So give me all your poison
Long Lost.
Being sobered up. Getting cleaned up. Grabbing my balls and stuffing them back in their place. Stop horsing around. I’ve seen trainspotting and the whole ‘Chose life’… bullocks, I’ve read the books, had the talk and got the beating and still I didn’t understand why or how people kept giving me all this “get your act together” crap.
Frank refilled my cup for what seemed like the 100th time that morning as Mikey and him continued rambling about how I had to stop hitting the ‘self destruct’ button and “get my act together” before it was too late. Like it was for Sam.
I just eyed them tiredly thinking “too late” was 10 years ago and there was nothing to do about it now, no use crying over spilled milk. For a couple of guys I hardly remembered, they took their ‘saviors’ role pretty seriously, not contempt with bringing me back to life they insisted on pushing some sense into me or at least protecting me from myself.
“Isobel, honestly, what happened?? You were such a happy kid in high school…” Mikey sighed exhausted pushing his glasses up the ridge of his perfect nose. Jesus Mikey you really don’t know a thing about me or you don’t remember me at all.. I just shrugged and lit up a cigarette.
“What’s with all the scars??” Frank bluntly asked before Mikey could go on with his delirious revival of the past. I fought the urge to punch him or to make him to feel as ashamed or violated as I felt as he demanded some sort of explanation for things I had chosen to forget but mostly things THEY should know nothing about.
“Did he beat you?” Mikey added in one breath, as if the question had escaped his lips with the exhalation of breath. I shook my head ‘no’ and took a deep drag, my hands shaking like crazy from withdrawal. Mikey just eyed me as if trying to decide whether I was lying or not.
“Those are very old” I offered as my best excuse. Frank nodded, his bright green eyes fixed on mine, searching for something, something that probably wasn’t there and I had lost a long time ago.
I was hitting rock bottom of the withdrawl hole, not having slept in days since that whiskey-sleeping pill combo that ended with me being retained in Mikey's and Frank's place in case "I tried to off myself again". I tried to explain to them I wasn't trying to "off" myself, that I usually took more pills, that I needed those to sleep, to forget, to erase but it was no good.
Truth was I didn’t feel anything since that night at the police station. Just empty. Hollow. It was as if I was just floating around, Jeff dragging me behind, Frankie and Mikey spoon feeding me shit, which I was incapable to retain. I’m most likely going to smoke myself to death stuck in here, shaking and sweating like mad. Going slightly paranoid due to the lack of sleep, pills and Sam.
Frank refilled my cup for what seemed like the 100th time that morning as Mikey and him continued rambling about how I had to stop hitting the ‘self destruct’ button and “get my act together” before it was too late. Like it was for Sam.
I just eyed them tiredly thinking “too late” was 10 years ago and there was nothing to do about it now, no use crying over spilled milk. For a couple of guys I hardly remembered, they took their ‘saviors’ role pretty seriously, not contempt with bringing me back to life they insisted on pushing some sense into me or at least protecting me from myself.
“Isobel, honestly, what happened?? You were such a happy kid in high school…” Mikey sighed exhausted pushing his glasses up the ridge of his perfect nose. Jesus Mikey you really don’t know a thing about me or you don’t remember me at all.. I just shrugged and lit up a cigarette.
“What’s with all the scars??” Frank bluntly asked before Mikey could go on with his delirious revival of the past. I fought the urge to punch him or to make him to feel as ashamed or violated as I felt as he demanded some sort of explanation for things I had chosen to forget but mostly things THEY should know nothing about.
“Did he beat you?” Mikey added in one breath, as if the question had escaped his lips with the exhalation of breath. I shook my head ‘no’ and took a deep drag, my hands shaking like crazy from withdrawal. Mikey just eyed me as if trying to decide whether I was lying or not.
“Those are very old” I offered as my best excuse. Frank nodded, his bright green eyes fixed on mine, searching for something, something that probably wasn’t there and I had lost a long time ago.
I was hitting rock bottom of the withdrawl hole, not having slept in days since that whiskey-sleeping pill combo that ended with me being retained in Mikey's and Frank's place in case "I tried to off myself again". I tried to explain to them I wasn't trying to "off" myself, that I usually took more pills, that I needed those to sleep, to forget, to erase but it was no good.
Truth was I didn’t feel anything since that night at the police station. Just empty. Hollow. It was as if I was just floating around, Jeff dragging me behind, Frankie and Mikey spoon feeding me shit, which I was incapable to retain. I’m most likely going to smoke myself to death stuck in here, shaking and sweating like mad. Going slightly paranoid due to the lack of sleep, pills and Sam.